by Radclyffe
“Fine, I guess. I only had to holler for help a couple of times.” Quinn smiled wryly, remembering a time when she had been the one making all the calls. The one in charge. “I haven’t felt quite so ineffectual in a long time.”
Honor couldn’t help but hear the frustration and, surprisingly, the hint of sadness in Quinn’s voice. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the surgeon why she had chosen to take this job, but it was none of her business. It would have been within her province to ask for an explanation, had she had the opportunity to interview Quinn before she’d been hired. But not now. Now it was done. “You’re allowed a lunch hour, you know.”
“I’m not used to a formal schedule. I’d rather just work.” At least then maybe I’ll feel useful. Like maybe the last ten years haven’t been for nothing.
“Your call. See you tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow.”
Quinn gave the child’s mother the prescription for antibiotics along with instructions to follow up with her pediatrician in two days. After filling out the paperwork, she dropped the chart into the Completed bin and headed back to the locker room. She packed up her gear, stowed the bloodied jeans in her backpack, and headed out.
She ran into Honor and Linda as the two women were leaving together.
“Need a ride somewhere?” Linda asked as the three of them converged on the outer doors.
Quinn couldn’t help but notice that Honor looked slightly perturbed by her friend’s offer. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve got my bike.”
“Ooh.” Linda made an excited sound. “You’ve got a motorcycle?”
Laughing, Quinn replied, “No. A Fuji road bike.”
“A bicycle?” Honor questioned, surprised once again. Thus far, Quinn Maguire had managed to dispel almost every preconception she’d had about her. She'd even been forced to make allowances for her arrogance.
“I’m only a couple of miles from here on Morris,” Quinn supplied.
“Hey! We’re all practically neighbors.” Linda beamed. “Honor and I are a couple of houses apart right around the corner from you on Schoolhouse Lane.”
“That’s...nice. Well,” Quinn put her hands in her pockets, aware that Honor Blake was slowly edging away toward the adjoining parking lot. “Good night, then.”
Quinn watched the two women walk quickly away and then turned in the opposite direction toward the bike rack. Clearly she hadn’t been wrong in her impression that morning that the chief of emergency services was less than thrilled to have her. Ordinarily, she didn’t care what anyone thought of her—except for her previous chief, Saxon Sinclair. But she had cared about what Sinclair thought because she had wanted to be like Sinclair. Every trauma fellow to pass through St. Michael’s wanted to be like Sinclair. She was a surgeon’s surgeon—the best hands, the quickest mind, the ultimate in cool command.
The reasons that Quinn wanted Honor Blake to think well of her were a little more complicated than simply desiring professional respect. Sure, she wouldn’t mind if the chief of emergency services was impressed with her skills or thought well of her clinical acumen. But Honor wasn’t just her chief, she was also an attractive and intriguing woman. During moments when Honor hadn’t been aware of her scrutiny, Quinn had noticed how Honor’s eyes softened when she smiled and the way her lips curved upward when she laughed. Those events seemed rare, but worth the wait. She wouldn’t mind being the one to make Honor smile that way.
Yeah, right. Remember your own number one rule. Never ever get involved with a married woman.
Quinn shouldered her backpack, straddled her bike, and headed off into the gathering night. The last thing she needed at this point was an involvement with anyone, especially her boss, and her very obviously unavailable boss at that.
“Jeez, could you have been any more rude?” Linda turned her six-year-old Volvo wagon onto Wissahickon Avenue and headed north out of Germantown into Mount Airy. The neighborhood along the way was comprised mostly of large three- and four-story stone homes, many of which dated back over a century. More than a few had been subdivided into apartments over the years, but a fair number of affordable single-family dwellings still remained. The northwestern section of the city had gradually become populated by an eclectic assortment of young professionals, artists, blue-collar workers, and a large percentage of the city’s lesbian population.
“What do you mean, rude?” Blushing, Honor realized that she sounded defensive and tried to subdue her tone. “Just because I wasn’t falling all over her like some people I know?”
“I most certainly was not falling all over her.” Linda harrumphed. “I was simply being polite. And welcoming.”
“Oh, sure. If that bicycle had been a motorcycle, I think you would’ve climbed on behind her and ridden off into the sunset.”
Linda looked pensive. “I don’t think I could have tonight. Robin and the kids should be getting home from soccer practice right about now, and it’s my turn to cook dinner.”
Honor laughed. “Honestly, why are you so interested in her?”
“Aren’t you?” Linda pulled to the curb and parked. “You have to admit that she’s really good looking, she seems pretty smart, and she’s nice. And there’s no good reason that I can think of that she ought to be working in our emergency room. So I’m curious.”
“My point exactly. There is no reason for her to be here. No good reason.” Honor grabbed her briefcase and opened the car door. “So I’m reserving judgment.”
Linda made an exasperated sound as she climbed out, too. “About what? The good-looking part?”
“All right, I’ll give you that much.” Honor had to admit even to herself that no one would argue that point. Quinn Maguire was disturbingly good looking in an intense, Black Irish way. “As to how smart she is or exactly how well she’s going to work out in this position, we’ll see.”
“Okay, fine.” Linda could tell when she’d run into a stone wall. It was the kind of immovable object that could only be altered by chipping away one tiny flake at a time. “You want to round up your clan and come over for dinner?”
“Did you say you were cooking?” Honor asked dubiously.
“Ha ha. You bring the wine.”
“All right.” Honor realized that an evening with friends sounded like just what she needed to keep her mind off the disquieting arrival of Quinn Maguire into her carefully ordered world.
Chapter Three
Quinn pushed her bike down the alley next to the three-story building and secured it to the drainpipe with her lock. Her apartment comprised one-half of the second floor and had both a front and back entrance. A wooden staircase with deck landings at each level extended from the rear of the house, and she climbed to the second floor, fit her key into the back door, and let herself into her new home. The door opened onto the kitchen, a long narrow room now nearly filled with boxes. Threading her way around the obstacles, she proceeded into the hallway that ran the length of the apartment. A bedroom and bath opened off one side, a small second bedroom that she intended to use as an office adjoined the kitchen on the other, and a large rectangular living room occupied the entire space at the front.
Every room was filled with unopened boxes, scattered pieces of furniture, and a few suitcases. The movers had finished unloading everything late the previous evening, and Quinn had had no energy to open anything other than the trunk containing her sleeping bag, critical items of clothing, and bathroom gear. Her sleeping bag was still spread out in the middle of the living room on her mattress, and she had a feeling that she would be sleeping in it again that night. She turned once in a small circle, surveying the strange apartment.
What am I doing here? How in hell did I end up like this?
In retrospect, the chain of events that had changed her life had been set in motion a little over four months before, but the particulars of the proceedings seemed to have kaleidoscoped into one endless nightmare that defied logic or reason. When she tried to make sense of them, Quinn
found that she could not. She didn’t believe in luck or karma or fate. Sometimes bad things just happened. But that philosophy gave her very little comfort at the moment.
Wearily, she sat down on her sleeping bag, leaned her back against a pile of boxes, and closed her eyes. She knew she should eat, but strangely, she was not hungry. She knew she should sleep, but felt too restless inside for that. Her phone rested on the floor nearby. Briefly, she considered calling the woman she had dated on and off during the year of her fellowship in New York, but she found that the idea of talking with Beth left her feeling empty. They had gone to the occasional party, taken in a few Broadway shows, and shared a physical relationship that had been satisfying if not earth shattering. They weren’t lovers; in fact, they were little more than casual acquaintances.
Quinn hadn’t confided in Beth as her world had precipitously tilted and then simply crumbled, mostly because she wasn’t used to discussing her problems with anyone. And especially not with someone she didn’t completely trust to understand. Odd that we’ve slept together, and I don’t know her well enough to confide in her.
She hadn’t had much time to think about such things when she’d been working eighteen hours a day as a trauma fellow. Now that she found herself in a professional position to which she had never aspired, alone in a life she had never anticipated, she had far too much time to think. Groaning softly, she rubbed her face, stared at the ceiling, and tried to put the past aside. But the future was almost as difficult to contemplate, particularly considering her uncertain welcome in the ER that morning.
Fleetingly, she wondered if Honor Blake and Linda O’Malley were lovers. They had that easy energy between them, and she’d caught Linda eyeing her speculatively a few times during the day. The nurse hadn’t exactly been cruising her, but Quinn had felt the interest. Perhaps she was the person who had given Honor that wedding ring.
And just that quickly, Quinn found herself faced with yet another thought she did not want to contemplate. Surrendering to exhaustion as much emotional as physical, she stretched out on the sleeping bag and wearily closed her eyes again.
“Honor,” a soft, deep voice murmured.
Instantly awake, Honor jolted upright on the couch and stared into the pale blue eyes mere inches from hers. “Oh my God, did I fall asleep?”
Robin Henderson, a solidly built redhead with a killer smile, grinned faintly. “About halfway through Wheel of Fortune.”
“Where’s Arly?” Honor rubbed her face, trying to clear the mists of vague dreams from her consciousness. She couldn’t clearly recall what she had been dreaming, but she was left with a feeling of uneasiness and...peril? No, that can’t be right. What in my life could possibly be dangerous? For no reason that she could imagine, Quinn Maguire’s face flashed through her mind. That’s ridiculous. You must be tired.
“She’s in the den. There’s some kind of serious Lord of the Rings video game battle going on. Want some dinner?”
“Yes, please,” Honor replied gratefully, standing and stretching. “Did the kids eat?”
“All done. We fed them first and then banished them so that we could have some adult time.” Robin led the way into the dining room, where Linda was pouring an enormous pot of spaghetti sauce over enough pasta to feed a regiment.
“Yum. Looks great.” Honor slid into the seat that she always occupied at Robin and Linda’s.
Linda cocked her head and studied the serving bowl filled to the brim with steaming vegetables, sauce, and pasta. “You’re going to have to take some of this home. There’s only so much in the way of leftovers we can handle. I wish you had been able to talk Phyllis into staying for dinner.”
“You know that Monday’s her poker night,” Honor replied, referring to her mother-in-law’s love of gambling. “Nothing in the world would keep her from that.”
Robin heaped a generous portion onto her plate and passed the platter to Honor. “Lindy tells me that you’ve got a new doc at work.”
Honor paused with the serving fork in the air and cast a wary glance in Linda’s direction. She knew without doubt that Robin’s remark was completely guileless, but she also knew that the redhead was naïve enough to be set up by her less than scrupulous lover. And Linda, who refused to give up her self-appointed duty as Honor’s social secretary, looked suspiciously innocent as she cut chunks of garlic bread off a long loaf.
“That’s right.” Honor intentionally kept her voice casual.
“A surgeon, huh?”
“That’s right.”
Linda interjected brightly, “A really talented, good-looking one.”
“Is she gay?”
“If she’s not, then neither am I,” Linda stated emphatically.
“That’s good, then, right?” Robin looked questioningly from one woman to the other.
“Which part?” Honor grumbled. I know which part Linda thinks is good. If I didn’t also know that she loves me and thinks she’s helping, I’d be seriously pissed off at her.
“Uh...” Robin hesitated, sensing a faint chill in the air. “Did I put my foot in something?”
Shaking her head, Honor couldn’t help but smile. Robin, a computer software consultant who worked from home and cared for the couple’s six- and nine-year-olds, was one of the sweetest people she’d ever met. Honor could never remember being angry with her. “No, but your spouse just can’t keep from putting her nose in everything.”
“Oh.” Robin chuckled, tossed her lover a fond look, and went back to her dinner. “So what else is new?”
“Ha ha,” Linda retorted. But she leaned close and kissed Robin’s ear, murmuring softly.
“Jeez, give it a rest, will you?” Honor complained, but her tone was playful. She loved the way they cared for one another, and rather than making her sad over what she didn’t have, their happiness made her feel less alone.
“So are you gonna invite her to the barbecue next week?” Robin asked.
“No,” Honor said immediately.
“Sure,” Linda overrode her.
“Linda...” Honor’s tone was threatening.
“Oh, come on! She’s a new member of the department, and she’s new to the city. It’s only polite.”
Honor sighed, knowing Linda was right. She didn’t even know why she felt uncomfortable with the idea. Quinn Maguire had done absolutely nothing wrong, and she seemed personable enough. It wasn’t Quinn’s fault that she’d been hired without Honor’s input. It wasn’t her fault that she was a surgeon, and that Honor had no great love for her generally self-centered, egotistical, and often insensitive medical counterparts. It certainly wasn’t Quinn Maguire’s fault that she had the deepest blue eyes of any woman Honor had ever seen, or that for some reason, Honor couldn’t seem to stop seeing the way Quinn’s hands moved with such surety and grace.
“All right. Fine.”
Linda smiled and passed the spaghetti.
“Have you seen Dr. Maguire?” Honor asked Tom Finley, one of the registered nurses who worked in the ER. “I’ve got a guy in six with a mandible fracture I want her to look at.”
“I think she’s in ten doing a tendon repair.”
Honor raised an eyebrow. “Down here?”
Generally, any hand injury more serious than a simple laceration or straightforward fracture was referred to orthopedics or plastic surgery for treatment in the operating room. But Honor had noticed that since Quinn had started working in the ER, more of those problems were being handled on site. It was only Quinn’s second week in the ER, and already the other physicians were triaging anything that looked surgical to her. She was rapidly becoming one of the busiest physicians in the emergency room.
Finley, a thin, sharp-eyed African American, shrugged. “Anything that gets them taken care of and off our board works for me. You know how long it takes for ortho or plastics to get down here for a consult.”
Honor couldn’t argue. She’d much prefer that patients be evaluated, treated, and discharged rather than have them w
aiting for hours for a specialist to evaluate them. The long delays clogged up her emergency room and irritated the patients. Still, at this rate, Quinn was in danger of being seriously overworked. Already, Honor had noticed that the new attending was arriving early and leaving late.
“Thanks. Room ten, did you say?”
“Last I saw.”
Honor parted the curtain slowly and peeked inside. Quinn and one of the emergency room residents were seated on either side of a narrow arm board. A young Hispanic male lay on a stretcher with his arm extended on the support, palm up. A laceration extended across the width of his forearm, approximately three inches above the wrist crease. From where she was standing, Honor could see exposed muscle bellies, several pencil-sized white bands of severed tendon ends, and a blood clot in the region of the radial artery just above the thumb. “Can you talk?”
Quinn glanced up from the wound and smiled in greeting. “Sure. Come on in.”
With an inquiring expression, Honor tilted her chin in the direction of the patient, who appeared to be unresponsive.
“Anesthesia by ethanol,” Quinn explained. The patient was intoxicated and, after the resident had injected the lidocaine to numb the wound, had promptly gone to sleep.
“Nerve injury?” Honor leaned over the seated resident’s shoulder for a better look into the depths of the wound. Quinn held the edges open with two small stainless steel right-angle retractors that looked like miniature rakes so that the resident could work.
“Got the sensory branch of the radial nerve, but missed the median. Lucky for hi—yo, Zebrowski, don’t grab the end of the tendon with your forceps. You’ll fray it, and then it won’t hold your sutures.”
“Sorry,” the resident mumbled, his hands shaking as he struggled to place the fine blue Prolene sutures through the ends of the lacerated tendons.
